At my wedding, the giant screen suddenly flashed a compromising video of me in a hotel room with Donovan's business arch-nemesis.

Donovan didn't fly into a rage. Instead, he silenced the room with a look and calmly finished the ceremony with me.

But the moment the reception was over, I found him with his arms around my stepsister, Blair, hissing that I was a disgusting liar.

For the next three years, he and Blair paraded through high-society events, turning me, his actual wife, into the laughingstock of New York City.

I tried desperately to win him back, right up until the day I lost our baby. That was the day I finally gave up.

Once the love was dead, I finally let go.

————————

1

When the doctor told me I'd miscarried, I could hear the envious chatter of hospital volunteers from the hallway.

"Mr. Hawthorne is so devoted to Blair! She had a little scare, and he dropped a deal worth hundreds of millions without a second thought just to be with her. The entire VIP ward is overflowing with lavish gifts and gourmet supplements. I just saw him feeding her soup himself!"

"That's so romantic! I guess that's how a Wall Street tycoon does romance! But isn't he married?"

"You mean that infamous liar? The one who cheated on her husband right before the wedding. Mr. Hawthorne's just being charitable by letting her keep the name and a roof over her head. She has no right to be called Mrs. Hawthorne otherwise."

Hearing the word "liar," I remembered our wedding night. Donovan had called me the same thing.

That night, I had rushed into our suite in my wedding dress. Before I could speak, I saw them—Donovan and Blair, tangled together on the sofa in the lounge.

The moment I recognized their faces, my first instinct was to hurl the first thing I could get my hands on at them.

Donovan shielded Blair, smoothed her rumpled clothes, and coolly called for a private car to take her home before his eyes finally landed on me.

My composure shattered. I was crying, screaming, demanding to know why.

He just flicked a piece of imaginary lint from his expensive suit.

"Drop the devoted wife act, Juliet. It doesn't suit a liar like you."

I cried until I dry-heaved. "Donovan, you can't do this to me! And why her, of all people!"

"You know what she and her mother did! They drove my mom to suicide!"

In the next second, Donovan's cold eyes turned bloodshot. He kicked the glass coffee table, sending it shattering across the floor.

"Now you know how it feels, don't you, Juliet?"

"I put you on a pedestal. For years, I held back, never touching you, even when it drove me insane, because I didn't want to scare you. And for what? So you could turn around and sleep with that bastard Jasper?"

"What do you take me for!"

It was because of that video.

The day before the wedding, someone had drugged me and Jasper Knight. We woke up in the same bed.

I got a medical exam immediately after, and it confirmed what we both remembered from before blacking out: nothing had happened.

I had planned to find the right time after the wedding to explain it all to Donovan, but I never imagined someone would play that maliciously edited video at the ceremony.

The pain was so sharp I could barely breathe. All I could do was sob and explain, "I don't know who set us up, but I swear nothing happened between Jasper and me!"

Donovan let out a frigid laugh, his voice laced with ice.

"Juliet, do you really think I'd still believe you?"

I lifted my head. "If you don't believe me, then why did you go through with the wedding? Why marry me?"

He suddenly grabbed the nape of my neck, his eyes utterly devoid of love.

"For revenge. You love to act? Fine. Then you'll live in this lie for the rest of your life."

"Juliet, I'm going to make the rest of your life a thousand times more painful than what you've put me through today."

The very next day, Donovan took Blair on a private jet to St. Barts for the honeymoon that should have been ours.

Donovan, who had always hated having his picture taken, hired a professional photographer for Blair. He posed for hundreds of intimate shots with her, just so she could plaster them all over her social media.

By then, the news of the "compromising video" had exploded across New York.

Everyone cursed me as a shameless slut and painted Donovan as a wronged saint. They even celebrated Blair as a brave woman who defied gossip for true love.

Their fans flooded my inbox with hate, threw trash at our apartment door, and even created disgusting, doctored photos of me.

All the while, Donovan was traveling the world with Blair, visiting every single place I had ever dreamed of going with him.

But even then, I couldn't let go of the love we'd shared for years.

After all, after my older brother died, he was the one who loved me most, who treated me best.

In my loneliest, most helpless moments after my family fell apart, it was Donovan—my brother's best friend—who found me and became my guardian.

He had held me tightly, his voice a raw mix of anger and pain.

"Why didn't you come to me?"

"Juliet, listen to me. Even if the whole world abandons you, I will always be your rock."

From then on, Donovan devoted himself to caring for me, spoiling me rotten.

He brought me to New York. In the private schools teeming with the heirs of billionaires, I was the girl who didn't belong, and everyone was waiting for me to make a fool of myself.

But at the opening ceremony, Donovan announced to everyone, "Juliet Monroe is off-limits. Anyone who touches her answers to me."

Day to day, he personally managed every detail of my life, helping me escape the shadows of my past.

The moment luxury brands released their new haute couture, Donovan had them all sent to our home.

I once casually mentioned envying princesses in castles, and he bought a stretch of coastal land in the Hamptons and built me a fairytale villa.

One by one, these stories spread through New York's high society. Everyone knew how devoted Donovan was to me.

He nurtured me back to life, helping me rediscover a radiant, carefree—even spoiled—side of myself I thought was gone forever.

Whenever I woke from nightmares, terrified he too would one day abandon me, I'd cry and throw a tantrum. And he would tell me, patiently and solemnly, over and over again, "Don't ever worry, Juliet. The only way I'll stop loving you is if I'm dead."

How could I ever let go of a Donovan like that?

So, after he and Blair returned, I began the humiliating pilgrimage to win him back.

I showed him the medical report, but no matter how I explained, Donovan insisted it was just evidence I had forged.

Left with no other options, I found the platinum bracelet he'd given me, engraved with our initials, desperate to awaken his memories.

He only glanced at it before tossing it into the fireplace in front of me.

Eventually, I even wore a sexy silk nightgown, hoping my husband would spend just one night with me.

Donovan stopped in his tracks. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he walked toward me.

But just as his lips were about to meet mine, he pinched my chin, a wicked smile playing on his lips.

"Juliet, are you really this cheap?"

"Too bad for you, I'm a clean person. I don't touch filth."

The next day, at the charity gala for our first wedding anniversary, Donovan was on stage giving a speech. On the giant screen behind him, a private photo of me in that same silk nightgown was "accidentally" displayed.

I was escorted into the venue, only to see my own image projected high above.

Donovan watched the color drain from my face, a cruel, triumphant smile on his.

"Do you like your first-anniversary gift, my dear wife?"

The room erupted in mocking laughter, and countless greasy gazes crawled over my body.

Blair melted into Donovan's embrace, flashing me a sickly sweet, triumphant smile.

"Juliet has always been so bold. Donovan, this gift is perfect for her."

"But since you've been with me, you haven't laid a finger on her. It's no wonder she's so desperate and pathetic, the poor sexually starved thing."

"I'm not a petty woman. She is your wife in name, after all. Why don't you find a day to satisfy her? Otherwise, with you tormenting me all the time, my body can barely handle your intense demands."

At her words, Donovan's gaze on me instantly curdled with disgust.

"Touch her? The thought makes me want to puke."

He turned and affectionately nuzzled Blair's nose.

"Baby, I only like pure, self-respecting women like you. After the gala, I'll buy you that new yacht."

Watching their sickeningly sweet display, I closed my eyes as tears streamed down my face, finally consumed by a profound despair.

"Donovan," I said, my voice slow and hollow, "let's get a divorce."

Hearing this, Donovan glanced at me and burst out laughing.

"Juliet, what right do you have to ask for a divorce?"

He rose, leaning over me to savor the pain on my face. He swiped a tear from my cheek with his thumb, the touch rough and dismissive.

"Have you forgotten our prenup? You'll get nothing if you leave me. I plan to torture you for a lifetime, Juliet. This is just the beginning."

"As long as I say no, you can forget about a divorce. Not in this lifetime."

And so, to punish me for my "disobedience," Donovan gave Blair an access card to our penthouse.

The living room, the kitchen, the study, the walk-in closet.

Everywhere I had been, the next day I would find traces of their intimacy deliberately left behind.

I started suffering from insomnia, spending night after night wide awake. I began seeing a therapist and taking various anti-anxiety medications.

Until one day, Blair burst into my room, holding a tablet.

"Juliet, I can't believe after all these years, you're still so useless."

"Seeing you live like a dog every day… even I, your dear little sister, am starting to feel sorry for you."

"Fine, I'll be merciful and let you die knowing the truth! I was the one who drugged you and Jasper."

On the tablet she was holding, a surveillance video clearly showed her pouring a white powder into my drink.